Instincts
by sp8isgr8
Summary: In which Gabe is a shy bartender and Sam's really forward.


Gabriel hates his job. Don't get him wrong, bartending can be fun, but he's getting tired of people always hitting on him who aren't interested in actually taking him home- or, more importantly, taking him home repeatedly. There are plenty of people up for a one night stand. Contrary to popular belief, however, that's not exactly what Gabriel's looking for. He's twenty-eight; he needs at least one steady relationship by this time in his life.

The bar he works at is fairly popular. It's a small town, so most everyone visits at one point or another. They have quite a few regulars, as well. He'd estimate that he knows about 90% of the town by name. So it's a surprise when someone he doesn't recognize comes strolling in through the front door.

The first thing Gabriel notices is how tall the man is. He practically has to duck just to walk through the damn building. Then he goes on to observe the rest of him, namely his eyes- a bright hazel color- that sparkle with laughter and mischief.

He's so far gone for this man, and he doesn't even know his name

It's then that he notices him walking towards the bar he's supposed to be tending to, and he goes back to cleaning the glass in his hand, pretending that he wasn't just ogling the man in front of him.

"Hey." Gabriel's heart flutters at a simple word, and if that doesn't show how fucked he is, he doesn't know what does.

"Hey there, what can I get for you?" He coughs and tries not to make eye contact, but it proves harder than he originally thought.

"What do you recommend?"

"That depends, what do you like?" The newcomer flashes him a wide smile and, fuck, dimples.

"Everything. I'm easy." Gabriel almost chokes, and immediately flushes a light pink color. He makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a squeak and hurries off to fix him a drink. He goes with a pineapple martini, because a bar can be classy, and the man seems like the kind of person to appreciate a good fruity drink once in a while.

When he hands the man his drink, he simply takes a sip and groans his content. Suddenly, it's much too hot for Gabriel's liking, and Gabriel looks down at the bar quickly. When he looks back up, Gabriel finds a hand being extended to him.

"I'm Sam. Winchester." Gabriel grabs the hand and shakes it firmly, ignoring the flutter in his stomach at the direct contact.

"Gabriel." He drops his- Sam's- hand, but maintains eye contact. After a moment, though, he has to look away. Damn it, Gabriel's never been shy before, he's not sure what to do.

"Well Gabriel, how did you know that I love pineapple?" Gabriel looks back at Sam and tilts his head.

"I don't know; you just seem the fruity type." Sam raised an eyebrow at this, and Gabriel realized the double meaning of his sentence.

"Oh god, no, I didn't mean…" He was cut off by Sam's loud, deep laughter that sent chills up his spine.

"Hey, calm down. You're right on both parts. So your instincts were responsible for bringing me this slice of heaven?" His eyes were sparkling again, and it took all Gabriel had to stop gawking and gather enough brain cells to answer.

"Uh, yeah, I guess. I've been told I have pretty good instincts." At this point, Gabriel was spending too much time with one customer to technically be allowed. But hell if he cared when Sam was sitting right there looking absolutely edible.

"Mhm. So, tell me, what else do your instincts say about me?" Sam's tone had a definite challenge to it.

"Well… you're obviously well-respected and well-paid, given your outfit." Sam raised an eyebrow again and looked down at his clothes- a plaid button down and nice, but worn jeans.

"What's wrong with my outfit?"

"Nothing! Nothing, it's just, compared to the rest of the bar…" He swept his arm out, gesturing to the rest of the patrons, most of whom were wearing ratty t-shirts and ripped jeans. Sam chuckled and turned back to Gabriel.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Please, go on." Gabriel was sort of at a loss for words. He scratched his mind to come up with anything that didn't sound either desperate or downright idiotic.

"Let's see… you seem like the type to have an absolutely whipped boyfriend." Alright, so he was being a little forward right now, but he needed to know these things. He wasn't one to flirt with taken men; he'd had his fill of those, and believe him, it's no fun to wake up in the morning to a pissed off girl or boyfriend. He'd even had the cops called on him once.

Sam just smiled wider and took the comment in stride.

"I don't have a boyfriend, but I'm sure if I did, I could whip him." Gabriel's mouth went dry as Sam nonchalantly took another sip of his drink, as if he didn't just fuel Gabriel's new fantasies.

"By all means, continue. I'm curious to see where this leads." Gabriel shook his head.

"No way, I just told you two things about you. It's your turn, mister." Sam just grins ferally like this is what he'd been waiting for.

"Well, let's see. You definitely bat for the other team- it's the drink by the way, you made me a fucking martini." Sam continued, plowing through Gabriel's splutter. Gabriel simply nodded for him to continue and resumed cleaning the glass so his hands had something to do.

"You're not taken, or else you wouldn't be spending so much time over here flirting with me." Sam smirks as Gabriel turns the exact color of a beet, but Gabriel nodded again. Sam leans in a bit, speaking a bit quieter.

"And you're definitely a bottom." Gabriel almost drops his glass and his head snaps to look at Sam. He's moved back into his former position by now, looking like a smug little bastard.

"And what makes you say that? I could very well be an amazing top, for all you know." Sam shrugs and raises his eyebrows.

"So are you?" Gabriel pretends to consider the question.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not." Sam grins again like he knew Gabriel was going to say this. He leans back in, resting his head on his hands.

"Guess we'll just have to find out, won't we?"

Gabriel is well aware that he's gaping, quite unattractively he's sure. He's not sure he understood that- did Sam, practically a Greek god, just ask him, the short, poor bartender, to come home with him?

"Is that a challenge?" Sam's smirk answers his question.

"What time do you get off?" Gabriel practically melts. His face lights up like a Christmas tree and he throws down his rag, setting the glass- spotless by now- on the counter.

"Fuck it, I'm leaving now." Sam laughs heartily again, creating more knots in pit of Gabriel's stomach.

As he walks out the door, Gabriel thinks his job isn't so bad after all.

As he's pushed into the wall outside the bar with Sam devouring his mouth, he thinks he absolutely loves his job.


End file.
